


Per Sempre, Per Sempre

by caffienedcold



Series: TLYADO & extended universe [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffienedcold/pseuds/caffienedcold
Summary: Seventeen years after the disastrous Christmas of 2050, Frank and Gerard fumble through meeting each other again.Hard to say the best way to approach any sort of passing social acquaintance with your ex-husband of seventeen years, but they'll manage and maybe someday, somehow, kiss and make up too?





	1. It takes a confident approach...

Dallas- 2067

It’s a disgustingly blustery day in November, storm pressing close, and Frank and a bodyguard are accompanying a truck driver to make a new connection-and hopefully new allies- of a couple of drug runners coming up from El Paso, Texas. The bar is in Richardson, grimy and gross and dark. Private, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Their party settles into the corner booth, and Frank tries not to touch the booth seat all too much. Pleasantries are exchanged, and Frank mostly tunes out, taking note of the rest of the bar. There’s a girl in the kitchen behind the bar, drinking a soda out of a can. She’s not busy, that’s for sure. For the moment, she’s chatting with the bartender idly. Two men at the tiny five seat bar, single buffer seat between them. One looks like a trucker, including the cap pulled around his ears. It looks like he’s rocking a faux hawk under it, and Frank takes a moment to sneer internally. What year it is now? 2004 again? The slump and set of the second man’s shoulders have Frank doing a double-take to make sure that it’s not his ex-husband. He sort of hopes to God its not.

This is about the last way Frank wants to cross paths with Gerard again. He was really banking on not having to worry about this meeting for at least a few more decades, if ever. Inside his pocket, Frank thumbs the bare skin at the base of his ring finger. Some days it still feels too light, and some days the light catches the inscription on the inside of the rings on the chain around Frank’s neck and he’s faced with “Per siempre per siempre” and “12-27-16” all over again. That man better not be Gerard.

__

Frank tears his attention away from the bar and focuses on his work. He can’t help but keep an ear on the bar, though. Less than an hour later, the truckers are two pints in and hammering out details in rapid Quecha. Frank can’t follow it and he trusts his men, so he’s staring off into space, beer warming under his palm and listening to trucker-guy monologue at hopefully-not-Gerard.

“…And I still miss him, you know? A friend of yours dies and it might be forty years, but I miss Jepha. And then Bert went and got himself locked up and stuck in fucking New Jersey.”

Frank drags his eyes over to trucker-guy. He only knows one Bert who lost a friend and is now locked up in New Jersey. Sure, it’s a state of ten million, but still. The guy is leaned over across the empty stool, fidgeting nervously.

“..You know what I mean, though, right? When somebody dies in front of you?” He stops, clearly fully expecting a verbal answer.

There’s a long pause, and Frank gets the sense of a long-suffering sigh before hopefully-not-Gerard mutters, “Yeah.”

Frank feels like he’s been punched in the chest. He totally misses trucker-guys reaction to Gerard’s affirmative, too caught up in the fact that oh yeah, that’s Frank’s ex-husband. Fuck. Frank is fucked, totally. A bar like this, there’s one entrance fifteen feet to Gerard’s left. And slipping out through the kitchen on the pretext of needing the restroom is out, because that would involve squeezing past the other side of the bar, even closer to Gerard.

Frank thinks back furiously, trying to remember if Gerard looked up or not when they came in. He’s pretty sure he didn’t, because the day Frank misses Gerard staring at him is the day he’s gone blind.

Next to him in the booth, his hitman nudges him. “Boss?”

Frank tilts his head and “hmm?”s.

“You good? Looked like your attention was elsewhere?”

Frank jerks one shoulder. “The two guys at the bar.”

He looks over when Frank does, both of them tuning back in to watch trucker-guy slide over into the near booth seat, still fidgeting with his other hand, picking at his sock. “…You and I are gonna be tight. I can tell. You’re like.. I dunno. Yin and Yang. Heaven and Hell? All those big parallels. You get my gist? We’re nothing alike, but you and I had to meet. To keep our lifecycle going. We gotta live, some things gotta die.”

Frank’s neck prickles. That rhetoric is dangerously familiar. The pale shape of trucker-guys hand drops, and Frank puts it together in a flash. Stake in the sock, now a stake in the hand, ready to sink into Gerard’s chest. Well hell, they might not be married anymore, but Frank could never stand by for him to die.

He’s out of the booth before he really thinks about it, shadowed for the three steps it takes to get behind trucker-dude and lock his grip around the human’s wrist without giving him any prior warning.

Trucker-dude whips around, wrenching his own wrist, and Frank glowers at him. They might be of a hight with these bar stools, but Frank is head of the most powerful American organized crime network in a century, and has a formidable glower.

“What the fuck!” Trucker-guy hisses. Gerard’s head snaps up, staring at them both. Frank doesn’t break his glare on trucker-guy, just reaches his other hand down and pulls the stake out of the man’s grip.

“A wooden stake?” Frank lets go of his wrist and holds the stake up to his hitman, watching the altercation with a hand on his gun. “Hey, Woods, down here in Dallas they commit murder with garden markers.” He tosses the stake at him, and both truckers join Woods in laughing. Woods motions the bartender over to get orders for another round and give the bar privacy. Frank is slipping him a bonus for discretion.

Frank turns back to trucker-dude, now red with embarrassment. “Almost comical, isn’t it? A wooden stake?”

“You don’t know what he is! He’s killed men before and he would again. He’s responsible for getting my friend locked up, too.”

Frank looks over at Gerard and says mildly. “I think that I’d need to hear his side of the story. To be fair.”

Gerard shakes his head. “Frank..”

Frank quirks half a smile at him and looks back at trucker-guy. “What’s your name?”

“Jepha.”

“Jepha.” Frank purrs his name, then says, “Gerard here doesn’t kill people. Look at him. If he did, I bet your Bert would be dead.”

“You don’t know what he is.”

“Oh, I know much better than you do. Or did you miss us knowing each others names and clearly knowing each other?”

Jepha pales a little. “Does that mean you’re…”

Frank drops his fangs and says “Between the two of us, a little tip. Gerard will walk away from your threats, leave you in peace if you leave him in peace. But you threaten me and I will drag out out back and drain you drier than the Sonoran desert.” Jepha twitches and Frank leans in closer, still whisper quiet and calm. “Don’t get too twitchy on your way out or my man Woods over there will put lead between your ears before you reach the door.”

Jepha looks over at Woods’ cool look and ready stance, then back at Frank. Frank’s eyes catch the light for a split second, and Jepha pulls a few bills out of his wallet and tosses them on the bar, then makes a quick escape. Frank doesn’t meet Gerard’s eyes, unwilling to see what look he’s wearing, and retreats to his table.

His men finally let the barkeeper go, and the man is visibly pleased that there’s money on the bar and not blood. Gerard pays and sweeps out with a huff a few minutes later. Woods gives him ample time to clear the parking lot and looks to Frank for a cue to leave. Both truckers look ready as well, their new contact shaking Frank’s hand again. Frank pays for them all, and they leave the bar empty behind them.

Gerard is loitering against the side of the building, flicking the smoldering butt of a cigarette around his fingers. The truckers barely give him a glance and head back to their trucks on the far end of the lot. Woods hesitates when Frank slows.

Frank jerks his head at Woods to dismiss him. Woods visibly hesitates. “Sir?”

“Woods, if he kills me I’ll roundly deserve it.”

“That could be argued for any number of men, sir. Who is he?”

Frank hesitates for a second too long and Gerard says, “I’m his ex-husband.” Just loud enough to carry from behind them. Frank’s smile goes a little brittle, still directed at Woods.

“I’ll, uh, give you some space than, sir.” He retreats to the other side of the building, politely out of earshot, but still a clear shot past them.

__

Frank finally steps up to Gerard. “Sorry for interrupting your drink.”

“’S fine. Wasn’t really enjoying the beer.”

“Hopefully the company was a step up?”

Gerard considers and lobs out a casually damning, “To various degrees.”

Frank resists flinching.

Gerard isn’t watching him, per say, but they remember each other’s micro-expressions, and they both know Gerard is pleased the blow landed. Frank’s mouth twitches, and Gerard cuts him off, not willing to give up conversational control yet. “You’re still working the mob.”

“Yes? Not sure what else I’d be expected to be doing. Are you still in education?”

“I was subbing for a while back in Nebraska. On a sabbatical now.”

“Heading south, or?”

Gerard shrugs. “New places. I’ll probably rejoin Linds at some point.”

“Linds? Lindsey? Your old friend? You found her?”

“She’s up in Canada.”

“That’s nice.” If this isn’t the most stilted conversation he’s ever had… “I’m glad you found her.”

Gerard nods thanks and lapses back into silence.

“You planning to be in the Northeast again anytime soon?”

“Not if I’m not wanted.” Gerard pats absently at a pocket and Frank intercepts the search, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes and tapping one out to offer. Gerard takes it and the light Frank offers as well.

They both stand in silence for a moment, enjoying the fresh rush of nicotine and the silence. Frank eventually finds the thread of conversation again. “You’re not unwanted or unwelcome in the Northeast. You never really were. I wouldn’t find you and demand to know why you’re around.”

“Might end up that way someday, then. See snow instead of this shit.” Gerard looks up at the roiling sky and exhales smoke.

Frank gets caught up in the way his profile catches the light and breaks his own heart a little more with old memories. He covers it by looking past him at the highway and the trucks roaring past and hopes Gerard has no reason to know what heartbreak looks like on his face.

Gerard looks over and catches the expression Frank can’t quite hide. “If you weren’t…” he trails off and catches himself. If, if, if. If Frank wasn’t the person he’d made himself. If they could go back in time.

Still, Frank knows the argument as well as Gerard does. “If I wasn’t Frank Iero, made man. Yeah.” He grinds out the cigarette on the brick and pockets the butt out of habit. That status is absolutely not something to be spoken aloud, and that’s a promise Frank takes seriously, but this is Gerard.

Gerard looks over. “When you’d go out to Sicily? You weren’t made when we were together.”

“Bout five years ago now.”

“Huh. Guess you’re in it for life.”

“Who knows.” Frank shrugs, stuffs his hands in his pockets and adds as he turns, “If you still have my number, I’d love to grab a coffee and catch up if you’re in my neck of the woods.”

“I changed mine. Lorenzo kept texting me.”

Frank bites off a swear and turns halfway around again, sort of aimless. He can handle this rejection, he had better. “Well, uh, I guess not, then. If you want to find me, I’m in mostly the same places. And if you don’t, uh, good luck out there? Don’t get killed?”

“I’ll try. Goodnight, Frankie.”

Frank’s throat clicks at the old nickname, and Gerard shuffles off toward a mid-decade coupe under the lone lamppost.

__

Frank stands for a second in the pressing humidity before mustering himself to turn back toward Woods and his life now. Woods doesn’t say a word as they climb into the car and pull out after Gerard’s coupe.

__

They’re nearly back at the hotel before Woods opens his mouth, then says very carefully, “Sir?”

Frank casts him an apprising look. “Yes?”

“How’d you know that man had a weapon? It was dark as all hell under the bar, and that stake couldn’t’ve caught the light.”

“It didn’t. But I have good night vision.” Woods isn’t high enough up to know that Frank isn’t human yet.

“Oh. I just- I didn’t see it. And my line of work, I’m supposed to see that kind of stuff.” He sounds a little frustrated with himself and Frank hums, turning fully to him.

“It’s alright you didn’t. I was paying more attention than usual to them as well, because I thought that might’ve been Gerard. Who you didn’t know and weren’t watching for.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry I didn’t act faster.”

“It wasn’t a work-related conflict, Woods, I don’t care. You showed very fine discretionary instinct calling the bartender over and giving me some privacy, actually. It’s not your job to watch out for and stop every conflict in our vicinity and I don’t expect you to.”

“If you say so, sir. If I may inquire, why did that man want to kill your ex-husband?”

“Because my ex-husband and I are the reason his friend is in jail.” Frank snorts. “Really, compared to what we do now, the conflict was minuscule, but he physically attacked me and made a very credible threat on Gerard’s life. So we pressed charges and he was convicted.”

“Did he know who he was attacking?” Woods sounds incredulous. Frank’s reputation casts a wide shadow today.

Frank actually laughs. “He wasn’t attacking anyone special. I was a high school teacher. Gerard is still one. We worked at the same school, we were dating. Bert was very opposed to it.”

“You taught high school?”

“Mhmm.” Frank leans back in the seat and says, “How do you think I manage all the childish squabbles of the old Families?”

“It does explain a certain degree of interpersonal expertise. And I guess, a lot of people look up to you as a mentor. But-“ Woods decides not to voice the last question.

Frank cuts a glance at him. “Were you about to ask why my marriage fell apart?”

“No, sir. I wouldn’t want to cross a line.” The lie is so blatant it’s almost painful.

“Woods, first of all, learn to lie better. That was dismal.” Frank sighs, “He left me because of my work. That’s the short and sweet of it.” He almost keeps the bitterness out of his voice.

“I’m sorry.” Woods pauses, makes a careful left turn, and quietly adds, “Well, if you’ve reconnected, maybe you’ll start over together?”

“I’d have to walk away from the mob entirely to get him back. I appreciate your optimism, but us getting back together is a very long shot. Not that I don’t wish it was possible, but I don’t know if I’m willing to change enough, and I have no idea if he’s willing to forgive me for this.”

Woods glances over at his boss, almost sure that was more than Frank had really intended to let on. Frank is staring tiredly at the roof of the car, head resting against the seat. Woods almost feels bad for him, seeing the mask slip aside.

They drive on silently, and Woods resolves to ask Mr. Ricci about it sometime.

__

He doesn’t get the chance for nearly two months, but he and a few coworkers are in a briefing with both Matteo and Lorenzo at the end of a long Thursday, and Woods hesitates when everyone else starts to leave.

Matteo catches the hesitation, “A question?”

“Yes, sir, but it’s a bit personal. Do you mind?”

Lorenzo hesitates at the door and closes it gently, staying in the room. Matteo gestures for Woods to sit again. “I’ll forgive the asking, but I may choose not to answer. Go on.”

“Did you know Mr. Iero’s husband?”

“Yes. Why?”

“We met him in Richardson. Mr. Iero stopped a man from trying to kill him with a wooden stake and then they talked outside. He, um, Mr. Iero seemed sad about it, and I wondered if they’d ever talk to each other again.”

“Someone tried to kill Gerard with a wooden stake?” Matteo sounds quite serious about it, and Woods nods, very confused.

“And Frank stopped whoever was trying to?”

“Yes, sir. He made a joke of it and I think he threatened the man, because that guy left in a hurry. It was a little strange, but…”

“Why’d the man try to kill Gerard?” Lorenzo sits down again, equally serious.

“I don’t really know, sir.” Woods is confused now, properly. “I asked Mr. Iero about it and he said it was because he and his ex-husband, Gerard, sorry, got the mans friend thrown in jail for assault back when he was a high school teacher.” There’s so many things about this story that don’t add up, and repeating them all, Woods is sure he sounds absolutely crazy.

Matteo looks at Lorenzo, who looks like he’s trying to remember something. “Isn’t that when Frank got turned? Some incident at a school? Where some other teacher tried to kill Gerard? He used to talk about it.”

“Was it?” Matteo sighs, “I don’t remember, but it’d explain why the hunter went after Gerard. He knew him.”

“Perhaps. You can ask, I hate the face he makes when you ask about when he was married.”

“Coward.”

“It’s not cowardly, it’s self-preservation. I hate that face.”

“It’s just sad.” Matteo rolls his eyes at Lorenzo and turns back to Woods. “What was your original question? I’m sorry, I’ll get Antonio to make sure Gerard is okay on our own time.”

“Just, do you think they’d ever talk again? I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve never seen Mr. Iero that… like that. All, deflated like.”

“Well, I wouldn’t press Frank on it. Gerard did walk out on him.”

“On Christmas Eve. Four days before their anniversary.” Lorenzo leans back agains the chair.

“I thought we agreed with Frank on his method of dealing with that whole fiasco.”

“We still do, I’m just kinda mad Gerard didn’t stick around and talk about it.”

“It wasn’t their first fight.” Matteo stands up. “Well, Woods, thank you for letting us know they met. He hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps they will start talking again. Up to Gerard, I suppose.”

Woods follows Matteo to the door. “I didn’t realize you knew him that well, sir.”

“It was quite a few years ago that he left, but we were close before.”

“Oh.” Woods leaves, curious and with more pointed questions spinning around his head.

__

He’s a mob man through and through, so he bribes the oldest lieutenant he knows with a bottle of good bourbon and asks about Frank’s husband. Jay is just old enough to have been in the meeting with the Eastern European men, and he was with Gerard the entire day, as a bodyguard. He gives up Gerard’s last name, and Woods is off. His girlfriend is a records-keeper at the New York Public Library, and Gerard Way did once teach in the public school system.

After that, it’s a week of late night searches, and he has a white pages report with an apartment address in El Paso, Texas. A month later, he checks the address again and takes his girlfriend down to El Paso for a week of poolside relaxation and casino fun. And one afternoon, he leaves her with a good book by said pool and drives the few short miles between him and possibly, Frank’s ex-husband.

__

The apartment isn’t as shabby as the online photos of the complex had looked, and Woods is pleasantly surprised to find the door freshly painted. He knocks.

He’s quite surprised when the man who opens the door does in fact look familiar. These things almost never work out so neatly. “Mr. Way?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Eric Woods, uhm, we met in Richardson in November.”

It takes Gerard a second to place him. “Oh. You work for Frank. I’m sorry, but I don’t want any business with him-“

“He didn’t send me! I found you on my own.”

Gerard doesn’t slam the door in his face, but he’s still clearly considering it, “Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About him?”

“Just to understand-“

Gerard’s jaw clenches and he cuts Woods off. “I’m sure it’s difficult for you to understand, being in the mob, but I hated it. And I hated being married to the head of it. And Frank made his choice.”

“He misses you.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything, still standing in the doorway.

Woods barrels on, “As soon as we left, he just- folded in on himself. I don’t want to accuse you, and I’m sure you had more than good reason to leave, but would you ever consider just talking to him?”

Gerard sighs. “My god, none of you know when to take no for an answer.” He closes his eyes, clearly summoning strength, then looks at Woods again. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Gerard leaves the door ajar and vanishes into the apartment. Woods hears him moving around for a minute or two, and Gerard comes back with a phone number and ‘Gerard’ scrawled on a post-it note.

He pushes it into Woods’ hands and says, “Just leave it on his desk. He can figure out how it got there himself. And if you get fired for it, don’t come crying to me.”

“I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

Gerard closes the door in his face.

__

Woods has to do more lying to get the post it note into Frank’s office while he’s not there than he’s ever had to do before, but he manages it with a fabricated order from Matteo and a missing file folder.

__

Frank gets back from a meeting thirty-five minutes later and nearly has a heart attack. Instead, he panics quietly behind the closed door for about fifteen minutes, saves the number in his phone under ‘Gerard ?’ separately from the old contact he’s never had the heart to delete and calls Matteo.

“Gerard left a note in my office.”

“What?”

“A note. His number. Well, a number, but it’s his handwriting and he wrote his name under it.”

“I’m coming up.”

__

Matteo is concerned, and Frank eventually just says, “I might as well text it? If he wrote it and it ended up here, I sort of doubt it was on accident.”

“Up to you.” Matteo sinks into Frank’s chair. “But decide now if you really want to. Because you broke up for a reason, and you’re still here doing our work.”

Frank folds in on himself a little. “I’ve dedicated a whole career to this, haven’t I? I miss him, ‘teo. Still. I know it’s been twenty years, but still. I want that back.”

“How long were you married?”

“’16 to ’50. So thirty four years. Little less than half my life so far.”

“Closer to a third, really. But it’s up to you. I just- are you willing to leave?”

“This? To get him back?” Frank pauses. He’s genuinely not sure. “Maybe? If there was a real chance, I might try.”

“Decide that before you text him, I think. If we’re even sure that’s him.”

Frank nods, and the number goes untested for the rest of the week.

__

He’s at a brunch at one of the lieutenants houses on Saturday, nominally for a work meeting, but it’s really just socializing. Frank gently disengages from the conversation and watches them all. They’re a good group, and Matteo and Lorenzo have genuine friends among them. Frank’s been bad about that, and there’s a distance between him and everyone else now. They’re young, and not afraid of him, but not friendly either. They don’t consider him their peer the way they do Matteo more than anything else, and that translates to distance.

Unwatched and strangely comforted by the bustle around him, Frank opens his phone and types out a short, cautious, “hello?”

The answer is gratifyingly quick. “Hello. your man passed my note on, I see”

“not so boldy. left it on my desk. who’d you give it to? teo swears ignorance”

“Kid from Richardson. He came and knocked on my door”

“that was very rude of him, i’m sorry. i’ll find him and have words”

“I don’t care. He said you looked sad and begged”

Frank takes a moment to reply to that. “ouch.” “not wrong, but not his business.”

“Why text me, then?”

“was curious, mostly? surprised you’d be willing to give me a means to contact you” “not that i’m not grateful and all but you were pretty clear you didn’t want to hear from me”

“17 years ago.”

“true. and now?”

“You’re still working”

“i can take off for a week- come to your neck of the woods”

“That’d be necessary, I think. Nothing about your work.”

“deal. where is your neck of the woods these days?”

“El Paso. 1313 Magruder.”

“should i plan around school schedule?”

“Spring break is Apr 15-19.”

“i’ll see you then.” Frank can’t resist smiling at his phone, something warm and hopeful bubbling up in his chest. It’s been a long while since he’s taken vacation days, and seeing Gerard will be, well, not easy, but worth it.

James catches the smile and says, “What’s the good news, boss?”

“Just planning a holiday.”

“Didn’t know you knew the word. Where to?”

“El Paso. Gonna see an old friend.”

Matteo’s whole face perks up. “Oh, you texted him?”

Frank’s grin widens without his permission. “And he invited me down.”

Matteo cracks a small smile, and Lorenzo grins at them both.

__

Three weeks later find Frank deplaning and instantly baking in the heat of El Paso. He’s really hoping his baseball cap keeps his face from burning bright red today. He and Gerard haven’t texted, but Frank heads into the tiny terminal first, picking up the keys to his rental before texting Gerard again. “dinner somewhere? just landed”

“Cactus Pear on Arroyo?”

“meet u there in 20”

Frank gets there in fifteen minutes and goes in, requests a table for two and texts Gerard the approximate location in the restaurant. He doesn’t think anyone will look twice at him considering the miles between here and New York, but just in case he’s also the most casual he’s been in public in years, and with an old flannel shirt on and one nearly-full sleeve of tattoos peeking out his own men would probably miss him in a crowd.

Gerard finds him in a truly hideous sweater and old school t-shirt and Frank can’t help the grin. “Where on earth did you find that sweater?”

“I got it in Vancouver. It’s Ralph Lauren.” Gerard sounds a little disgruntled at the greeting, and Frank smothers his smile.

“It’s just quite a sweater.”

Gerard almost smiles, “Kids comment on it every time.”

“I understand why you keep it.”

“Yes. Have you managed to avoid sunburn so far?”

“Mostly. I think my ears might be a lost cause.” Frank scrubs a hand under his baseball cap and shrugs.

Gerard nods. “It’s a learning curve to live down here for sure.”

“Yeah, Jesus. Why leave Vancouver? Isn’t that a much more agreeable climate?”

“I wanted the heat. Out here, I can go out after dark and it’s still hot sometimes. It’s nice.”

“Mmm, yeah. Better than the August miasma back up north.”

“Infinitely.”

“How’s the school system down here?”

Gerard considers his menu for a second. “Small. New York, there’s competition, parents want their kids to cross districts, go to whatever school. Out here, families just let their kids go up the pyramid. Or they go to the one Catholic school, and that’s K-12.”

“You’re teaching public?”

“Mhmm.”

“What grades?”

“Sixth and seventh, history.”

“God, when they’re really still kids.”

Gerard smiles a little more. “We do a diorama project in sixth.”

Frank’s mouth drops open into a full smile. “No shit? Do you have photos? I bet that’s cute as fuck.”

Gerard swipes them up and Frank leans over the table to look at them. The chain with Gerard’s rings Frank wears swings forward with the motion, and Gerard is a little surprised by the clear shape of Frank wearing a necklace with a heavy-looking charm under Frank’s t-shirt. He never took Frank to be the sort of ex-Catholic who would wear a patron saint’s medal.

When Frank sits back, done cooing at the dioramas, Gerard asks, “Who’s the saint?”

“What?”

“You’ve got.” Gerard gestures to his chest. “On your necklace? A patron’s medal?”

“Oh.” Frank puts a hand over the necklace, a little awkwardly. “No- they’re not. It’s not a patron’s medal. St. Francis was always nicer than me, anyway.”

“Oh, sorry, I just never knew you to wear necklaces.”

“Yeah, well, if you must know-“ Frank pulls out the rings and says, “They are, after all, yours.”

Gerard is a bit blindsided. He’d never expected Frank to keep them, let alone keep them close. Maybe it’s a sign, maybe Frank was sorrier than he’d ever let on about pushing Gerard too far. But ten minutes in a tiny Mexican restaurant are never enough to tell, so Gerard just says a quiet “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d kept them.”

“I wasn’t gonna throw them away.” Frank looks down at them for a second. “Uh, if you want them, they’re yours. I wouldn’t presume to keep them from you.”

Gerard considers, then shakes his head. “No. Maybe someday I’ll want them back. But not now. Hang onto them for me?”

“Been keepin’ ‘em safe for seventeen years.”

“The whole time, you’ve?”

Frank nods, apologetic but dead serious.

Gerard checks Frank’s hands. “Where are yours, then?”

“Nightstand back home. Haven’t worn them in years and years.”

“True. I don’t suppose you do get to keep them when I left you a divorcee, not a widower.”

“Well, yeah. Except I don’t think we ever legally divorced. Which is moot, but. It was a funny thought sometimes, that after all this, nearly two decades on, like-“ Frank gestures between himself and Gerard, “Oops, yeah, we never actually got divorced, so…!”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. Suppose it’d be a better punchline if we ever got back together?”

Frank nods. “Which, sorry, I should have opened with this, but I’m sorry I treated you like shit back in New York. You deserved, and I should have been, both much more attentive and loving but really just less focused on myself and what I wanted. Because I was that to the exclusion of your wants and needs. And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Gerard doesn’t really have anything else to add right now. He’s had seventeen years to stop being angry, but he couldn’t start deciding if he was going to forgive Frank before he apologized.

Frank just dips his head a little, finally opening his menu. Gerard does the same and they both fall silent, deciding on dishes.

__

Orders placed and chips and salsa nudged around, Gerard risks asking Frank about his work. “How’s New York?”

“Still crowded. Still not quite enough housing. Still massive class divides. Still kind of awesome despite all that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Staten Island gets more liberal every year, it’s not that they just tolerate gays because they have money anymore, they actually like them fine. The Fire Island guys are making themselves right at home out there.”

“Did you move out there?”

“God, I don’t have that kind of energy. No, I’m still in Midtown. Did move from where you’d remember. Uh. ‘Teo bought out the basement of that townhouse he and Lorenzo had, made it like a full little guest house. Julian stays there a lot.”

“Hows he been? Antonio doesn’t really say much, so I assume fine, but I don’t really know.”

“Yeah, far as we do too. I mean, I don’t think he did therapy at all, because remember even Lorenzo did, after Grant? But he seems alright. He’s always been real private about that kinda stuff.”

“Yeah. Is work going well?”

Frank hesitates. “Well as it ever will be, I think. Got a bit of a Pax Romana on the ground, so that’s pretty cool. I feel more like a lobbyist than anything else these days, but at least it’s mostly for a good cause.”

“With Coretz?”

“Yeah. Her for city stuff, Brathwaite and Boone otherwise. Well, Rodgers too, but he’s a dick and I go to Brathwaite because he doesn’t have that WASP-y senator heritage.”

“WASP-y senator heritage.” Gerard nods. “Shouldn’t be as descriptive as it is, and yet.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m glad it’s not as- bloody as it was.”

“So am I. Andrevich retired last year, by the way.”

“Andrevich…?”

“ Hruskevksy's old boss.”

“Oh. Yeah, he was older. And it has been that long.”

“Yeah. One of my guys joked about setting me up with somebody and I’m pretty sure Matteo straight stepped on his toes, but they don’t even know I already tried that gig anymore.”

“The married gig?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t dated?”

“Oh, god no. Dating was rough in my twenties when I had literally nothing to hide. Now I’ve got a lot to hide and I’m old as shit and wearing my ex-husband’s wedding rings around my neck. That’s kind of a lot of baggage to take out to the dating scene.”

“Guess so.”

“Have you?”

“No. But I don’t really… date. Unless someone else makes a compelling first move.”

“Ah.” Frank nods, mostly having known that to be true for Gerard.

“It always comes back to these dead ends, doesn’t it?” Gerard sighs, sitting back when their server reappears with food.

Frank pauses a moment until the server turns around to go. “Yeah, well, I personally feel that somewhere my education was lacking, because I’m vastly unprepared for sitting down to dinner with my ex-husband. Especially when it’s been more than fifteen years and it was my fault in the first place. Like, I know you. You know me. And yet, it feels really fuckin’ awkward to be familiar.”

Gerard laughs into his nachos. “Yeah, well, try inviting your ex-husband who you’re still not sure if you’re mad at down to visit your home for a full week and get back to me.”

Frank levels his fork at Gerard and says, “See, I invited mine and he managed a graceful ‘thanks but no thanks’ to the invite. So your ex-husband is just fumbling through the whole social exchange thing still.”

Gerard breaks down into a full laugh, shoulders shaking. Frank affects a high and mighty look and takes a bite of his enchilada while Gerard laughs.

“Okay, okay, maybe he is. But should I still be mad at him for the whole thing falling apart?”

Frank gives that question due seriousness. “I don’t think so. It’s probably not healthy to still be mad after this long. But you don’t have to forgive him, because that’s different. Maybe worth talking to him and then deciding?”

“What about yours?”

“What about mine? He’ll do what he wants, and my part in that is mostly dependent on what he’s comfortable with.”

Gerard sets down his fork. “You’ve really… matured. Grown into yourself. Something. You weren’t ever noticeably immature, but now that you’re what, past eighty? You’ve got a new perspective.”

“I guess a lifetime’ll do that.” Frank looks at Gerard. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No. It was just surprising.”

“And you’re past four hundred now, right?”

“Oh, God. Yeah. Three years past now, I think?”

“Well, now that we’re at least sort of in contact, I think I owe you a birthday gift. And a big one, because that’s a huge milestone.”

“You don’t need to do that. I did celebrate it, though.”

“What’d you do?”

“Jamia and Alicia came up to Lindsey’s studio and we all spent a week throwing 400 little pots. Kind of like a retreat? I know the girls had fun learning how, and Linds and I glazed and fired them later. It was nice to introduce them.”

“That does sound like fun. I’m glad you celebrated, at least. And now you’ve got 400 little birthday pots out in the world?”

“Mhmm. I’ve still got a bunch, actually. Linds and I threw most of them, I think Jai and Alicia only managed fifty or a hundred or so. We designated a hundred for Linds to sell, and we made sure the girls got fifty. And I think I sent at least twenty to Antonio and Julian. I’ve got a fair number down here. I think the rest are still in stacks in one of Lindsey’s sheds, honestly.”

“Damn. One for every year of you.”

“Mhmm. How old was I when we met?”

“Uh, that was 2011. So 34….7?”

“I think that ones still up in Canada.”

“Are they representative of years?”

“A little? We were numbering as we went, so for the ones I threw, yes. I was very nostalgic that week.”

“Damn. Those must be heavy pots.”

“Some are. They’re more or less mug sized, and I accidentally brought 386 down here with me. Took me a while before I used that one regularly.”

Frank has to do a quick bit of mental math, then he winces. “Yeah. That one might be better off in the shed in Canada.”

Gerard’s mouth twitches in a not-quite-smile, “Probably a bit like you wearing my rings. Made me think about it. And come to terms with it.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

__

They go from dinner to a park and then to Gerard’s apartment, talking about lighter things and funny stories from work and their lives. In three days, they’ve fallen back into sync with each other, and they’re both alright with the change.

Frank nearly kisses Gerard full on the mouth after a movie on Wednesday night, aborting with a jerk neither of them can write off as anything else. It sets them both off-balance with each other, but not even 24 hours later Gerard slips up too. Frank is over at Gerard’s apartment, watching home shows and bickering gently over design decisions and Gerard forgets Frank is heading back to a hotel and doesn’t live with him any more. He just gets up and puts his mug in the sink with a yawn. “I’m going to bed, you coming soon?”

Its Frank’s abrupt silence that forces Gerard to think about that sentence and when it hits he turns to apologize, finding Frank staring at him over the back of the couch with a bit of a panicked look. “Uh, Gee, I wasn’t planning to stay? I. Uh.”

“I’m sorry! You’re welcome to stay but that wasn’t really meant to be a come-on.” They’re talking over each other, both kind of apologizing.

Frank nods and stands up kind of gingerly. “I’ll head out, if you’re going to bed. But if you’re tired this early, wanna get a hunt in tomorrow night?”

“Sure. Goodnight, Frankie.”

“Night, Gee. Sleep well.”

They both spend the night tossing and turning and furiously cursing the casual intimacy that comes back too quickly even after years of total separation. Frank knows that if Gerard wanted, he’d sleep with him in a second and damn the consequences, and in parallel, Gerard knows that if he was selfish, he could ask and Frank would. Neither of them are quite willing to take that leap and actually ask.


	2. ...to stick the landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannot believe not a single one of you called me out for literally misspelling the title of this fic. OTL

Frank returns to New York both well-rested and well-fed, and Matteo looks unreasonably apprehensive when he walks into the office Monday. “Matteo. What?”

“Radio silence from you, let alone a weeks worth? Gives me great cause to worry. But the trip went well?”

Frank rolls his eyes at Matteo’s usual overactive worrying. “It was good. I doubt he’d try to hurt me, anyway.”

“It was good?”

“Yeah.” Frank leads them into his office and tilts his chin at the door. Matteo closes it with an expectant look. Frank continues, “We both had moments where we forgot we’d split up. Spent the last twenty years ignoring him, forgot all about the first twenty where I actually gave a shit and enjoyed every second. You ever want to take over this shit?”

“I’m going to pretend I followed that segue. But not that seriously. You also forget it’s been mine before.”

“If I walked away, that could do it. We could go back to teaching together. Gerard and I. But I couldn’t in good conscience just walk away. So, you. Julian.”

“I would. Happily enough. The concept of the change in power isn’t worrying to me, because you and I often agree on vision, and I don’t often fear that I’m subordinate to you.” Matteo tilts his head. “Don’t you ever worry that I’ll just stage a coup someday?”

Frank shrugs. “Not really. I try not to give you a good reason to, regardless. Just like, in terms of my own personal pride.”

Matteo laughs at that before bringing the conversation back around. “Do you seriously think that this would work? Because if you follow through with this it’s not exactly something you can walk back in two years. That would raise too many questions and destabilize both of us. You go, you lay your legacy in my hands for the next four decades at least.”

“Well, shit, don’t say I have to lay my legacy or whatever, that’s eulogy-serious. We won’t be dead to each other, I’ll bitch you out if you do something shit-stupid. But yeah, I’d go hands-off.”

“I wouldn’t tell you what I was doing.” Warns Matteo, eyes narrowed.

“Which would mean if I heard about it, it was really really fuckin dumb and you really needed to be bitched at.” Frank counters.

Matteo sits back with a snort, “Alright, then. How do you want to step down?”

“Can’t I just say I’m retiring and moving out west?”

“I guess. Don’t see why you couldn’t, actually. Very non-traditional of you.”

“Oh, I guess if we must play to your sense of traditionalism, we can stage my murder. I’d even let you shoot me in this office.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’ve been holding back on shooting you for years.”

“Once! I mean shoot me once, no emptying a clip and getting your anger out! That’s different.”

“Mmm, not much you could do once I started shooting, isn’t there?” Matteo folds his hands in his lap, sounding smug.

“We already agreed I could just retire, this was meant to be the fun option for you, don’t push it.”

Matteo laughs at Frank’s teasingly wagging finger and settles on, “Well, fine. I get to have killed you to take power, but I’ll do it with a knife. A stab in the ribs and you can act we’re in drama class and I will dump you in, say, the freight elevator. It’ll be all over the security cameras and it’ll be a fun time for everybody.”

“We’ll need some extra blood. Or people will for sure think you couldn’t manage to kill me close range with a knife.”

“With the way you conduct politics, we could just ask for some real blood from the hospital and they would give it to us.”

“And don’t say it like it’s a bad thing!”

“Alright, alright. You start packing, keep in touch with Gerard, let me know. I’ll be ready when you are.”

“See, that sounds like a coup.” Frank stands up as Matteo leaves and adds, “I’ll hold you to that.”

__

By Christmas of 2067, a plan is in motion. Over the last year, they’ve been texting more and more, and in a series of trips, they’ve spent most of a very promising summer together.

Frank met Lindsey, got a very thorough interrogation while Gerard was digging through this birthday pots, and hiked all of Gerard’s favorite trails. They visited Jamia and Alicia together, and it was almost like they were still two couples. Frank spent another week down in El Paso and he and Gerard vegged out on the couch for a week, glad to be doing nothing else. Frank booked a hotel room and ended up mostly just sleeping on Gerard’s couch. By this point in late July, they’re almost on the cusp of dating again, mostly by virtue of neither of them having asked, but they’ve fallen back into the same casual comfort with each other and everything but sharing a bed.

Gerard comes up to New York for the last two weeks of his summer and Matteo and Lorenzo compete with Frank for his attention in taking him to all the latest and greatest new places around.

Gerard, with a very long series of eye-rolls, does come into the office once, as Frank picks up a coat he accidentally left on the back of his door before dinner. Frank is apologetic and offers to let Gerard stay in the car, but it is a little hot for that, so he comes in. Frank runs on ahead, and Eric Woods passes Gerard in the foyer and does a double-take.

“Mr. Way?”

“Hm? Oh, Woods, right?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t expect to see you here, I’m sorry. How have you been?”

Gerard smiles. “I’ve been pretty good. How about you? Not fired for your stunt, I see?”

“No, sir. No-ones ever let on they know it was me, actually. A little strange. But Mr. Iero is out today, I think Mr. Ricci could phone him?”

“Frank’s just picking up a coat he left in his office. I know he’s not working today, I’ve spent the day with him.”

“Oh. Oh, I didn’t realize you’d been in contact before this. Is it- going well?”

“Better than expected, I think. And here he comes back.” Gerard stands as Frank comes out of the elevator, coat now in hand. 

Frank joins them with a shark’s smile before Woods can make an escape. “Woods, you meddling bastard. Checking up on your work?” It’s practically cheerful, and Gerard knows it for the teasing it is, but Woods is a little less sure.

“Uh, sir? I’m not sure what you mean, I was just saying you were out of the office today if Mr. Way was looking for you.”

“Mhmm. And of course wondering if we’d been texting since you left his number on my desk oh, five months ago?”

Woods just looks guilty.

Frank claps him on the shoulder and says, “Gee gave up your name straighaway. And ‘teo and I would’ve guessed you in minutes even if he hadn’t. We just decided leaving our knowing or not hanging over your head was sufficient punishment. Don’t do it again, though.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Good man.” Frank steps to Gerard’s side and looks at his ex-husband. “Shall we?”

Gerard says, “Goodnight, Woods.” and leads the way out into the evening.

Over possibly too-trendy cocktails later that night, Frank asks, “So did he just stop to say hi?”

“Yeah. Didn’t know we’d already been in touch, actually. Asked if I wanted Matteo to phone and find out where you were.”

“Sweet of him.”

“Isn’t it?” Gerard smiles, and Frank smiles back.

Now seems as good a time as any. “I’m thinking about retiring.”

Trust Gerard to understand every single layer in that simple statement and ask, “Out, stay in New York, or out-out?”

“Out-out. Go somewhere. Maybe take time not working. Shit, I’ve put in more than enough hours to have earned a retirement where I can just sit on the porch and yell at the neighborhood kids.”

“True. Anywhere you’d like to go?”

“Why, you done with El Paso?” It’s half a joking question, half a probe asking, ‘is this feasible, should we try for this?’

“I think I’m pretty tired of being sunburned, so probably done with deserts.” So Gerard is equally willing to give this a shot.

“Seattle? Be closer to the girls in SF and Vancouver.”

“I’d be happy with Seattle. Buy or rent?”

“Dunno. One bedroom or space for two?” Frank is willing to put the question out there.

“Two bedroom and see what comes of it?” Still with Gerard’s trademark caution, but Frank’s face splits into a smile anyway. Gerard chances a smaller one back. “What’s the timeline on your retirement?”

“Well, I offered ‘teo the chance to be dramatic about staging a coup and all, and he was almost a little too happy to say yes, so he’s planning that. I think I’m allowed to tell him what month I’m gonna leave in and the rest is up to him.”

“What is he planning?”

“A very traditional takeover.”

“Kill the boss.” It’s a statement, Gerard’s eyebrows furrowed.

Frank sighs and nods. “I offered it as a joke and he got this gleam in his eye and… yeah. It spiraled. I’m facing down my own staged murder. Except I don’t know when it’s gonna be, so it’s just gonna suck.”

“Have fun with that.”

“Thanks, I’ll try. But timeline is roughly whenever. Maybe November? I can head out to Seattle and shortlist places, and you could pop up over Christmas and help make the final call?”

“I trust you to find a good place, but I could come up over Christmas. I’ve been in El Paso for four years, so moving this summer is about right.”

“Cool. Then it’s a plan.”

“Congratulations on your upcoming retirement.” Gerard tilts his glass toward Frank. Frank clinks it with a smile.

__

After that, time flies. Frank gets stabbed in the gut by Matteo on November 12th, and Lorenzo leaves him out in the camera blind spot by the dumpster. Frank, with a new, non-mob phone already with him, texts Matteo ‘that fuckin hurt, thank u’ as he makes his way home.

By Thanksgiving, he’s in Seattle and staying at a hotel while he shops for a house. Most of it is stuff around the city, but on a whim walking through downtown one day he stops outside a realtor’s office and says, “Do you have any other houses out in the country? I like the one you have outside, but 3000 square feet is too much.”

He’s told that they do, and in an hour, they’re driving out to see that house, just to see it, then on to three more properties.

There’s a renovated ranch style looking over a wooded hill that they catch at the golden hour. It’s all staged furnishing, and Frank sort of hates that style, but the big windows are north-east facing, and a lovely sort of gold-limed dark that he’s sure he can see better than the agent. Standing in the living room, he calls Gerard. “You’re gonna love this house.”

“Am I?”

“Oh yeah. Just you wait, this is incredible.”

Gerard laughs down the line. “Alright. I’ll wait and see.”

“Okay, that’s all.”

“Bye, Frankie.”

Frank hangs up and turns back to the agent, “Yeah, it’s this one.” She nods, and pulls up some documents. 2068 starts with Frank moved in to the house, still a little under furnished and waiting for Gerard. Gerard joins him in May, and the first morning when Frank hands him a cup of coffee and they watch dawn spill over the hills, Gerard just says, “Wow” and moves in a trance to sit down and take in the view.

__

Gerard doesn’t bother looking for a job in Seattle, and when Frank asks, Gerard just says, “If we can live together for a year with no work to run away to, either of us, I’ll ask for those rings back.”

“Uh-oh.” Frank puts his hands up, “Look, I don’t even know what I’m doing myself with this shit yet, I might need a hobby out of the house for my own sake, let alone any positive motion here.”

“Oh, I’ll probably end up volunteering out of the house as well, but nothing like 40 hours a week of work.”

“Oh, okay, yeah. I was just worried we were about to embark on a full year of only each other’s company and I got real worried.”

“God no.” Gerard shakes his head, looking as worried about that prospect as Frank is. Frank relaxes, making an exaggerated gesture of relief.

__

They do, indeed, settle back in. Frank’s domestic instinct has him puttering around the house, putting in new tiles someplace, fixing up baseboards somewhere else, repainting the shed. Gerard uses half the open-plan living room as a studio space and paints, now onto experimental landscapes. Frank offers to put a pottery wheel in the shed, and Gerard refuses, laughing the whole time, and invites Lindsey down.

She loves the place, and urges them all out of the house on a hike one night, moon full and plenty bright. They summit the peak they live on, watch the city lights flicker under the clouds rolling in, and end up running the last half-mile home when rain catches up to them. They all get home soaked, Frank pulling out towels to hand off to Lindsey and Gerard as soon as they’re inside. Gerard looks at Frank in the yellow lights of the entryway at 2am, shirt soaked and clinging to his shoulders, face crinkled up with laughter with Gerard’s best friend, and is hit with the sudden realization that he’s in love with Frank again.

It’s easy for Gerard to pretend he hasn’t just been struck sideways, easy for him to head back to his room and get in bed and wonder. He checks the time, does a quick mental calculation of time zones and listens to the rain pound on the roof. That ought to cover him. He calls Matteo.

Matto picks up, running spreadsheets at the office. He still prefers a late-night approach, and it’s not like getting a call at this hour is unusual. “Matteo Ricci.”

“Hey Matteo.”

“Gerard? How are you? This is very late for you to be calling me, isn’t it?”

“A bit. I’ve got- well, it’s not a problem, but it might be one.”

“I hope you only want advice, because you’re a little bit out of my immediate reach.”

Gerard smiles into the darkness. “Yeah, I’m only calling for gossip, really. Nothing so bad.”

“Alright, what about?”

“How much did Frank go off the chain when I left? After I left?”

Matteo makes an affirmative sound to show he’s heard down the line and sits back to consider. It’s a long moment before he says, “Well. I don’t think he ever went totally off the chain, except perhaps that first week, two weeks. He started wearing your rings about then, and he was sort of.. brittle until about July, when he stopped wearing his. Then the grief started to settle.”

“Did he get violent?”

“On the personal or on the work end?”

“Both. Either?”

“No on the personal end. Professionally, he was ruthless. But not much more than the whole war with the Lazzara’s. I mean, you were around. Back then it was something he sort of hid, but he didn’t hide it after. It kept down any retaliatory violence, I’ll guarantee you that.”

“You sure?”

“Why? What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. I just. I’m in love with him again, but the last ten years of our marriage was him hiding violence from me, and I don’t want to find out further along this that it’s the same shit again.”

“Oh. Well, I swear on Grant’s grave he’s totally out of mob work. We text, but not about my work.” Matteo sighs into the phone. “You could just ask him. I don’t think there was anything he’d have cause to hide from you. Nothing all that strange happened, even. There was the Kenny Vescovi incident, which was abnormal, but I don’t know if any of that was Frank’s fault. Never did figure out what exactly happened there. But. Ask him if you’re not sure.”

“What’s the Kenny Vescovi incident?”

“Just a kid who died. He was an analyst. Great head for numbers, really fantastic. Frank poached him from my projects to his, and I poached Jane Eyrie from him, but I think Frank took Kenny on as a mentee of some sort? People said Frank paid a lot of attention to him, and about a year later he committed suicide. Walked out of Frank’s office and put his gun in his mouth in front of about five other people. Frank never said a word to me about why the kid might have done it, but he was shaken.”

“You think Frank pushed him to it?”

“I have no idea. It was strange, and some of Kenny’s peers said he acted oddly after he started working with Frank, but there was never enough to make anything of it except to say he must have been stressed.”

Gerard turns over, mouth dry. “And what’s your worst speculation?”

“My worst speculation is not fair to the man I know Frank to be.”

“Still.”

“No, Gerard. I’m not putting that on you. Ask Frank yourself, come to your own conclusions.”

“You think he turned Kenny. Like Grant.”

Matteo’s silence down the line says plenty, before he says quietly, “I have no proof, and no reason to believe that Frank would do something like that. Suicide is not unheard of in our work. Ask Frank yourself about the incident if you want. There’s nothing else that I can think of that was at all out of the normal. He did his share of our dirty work, as would be expected. But not with any undue relish.”

“I will. Thank you, Matteo.”

“Anytime, Gerard. Just remember, in my work, in Frank’s old work, violence is part and parcel. It’s necessary.”

“I know that well enough.”

“Alright. Shall I leave you to some sleep, then?”

“Yeah. And I’ll let you work. Thanks.”

“I hope I haven’t given you too much to think about.”

“Nah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Matteo sits back and thinks about Frank’s time in charge. It has been years, and most of them good, but Vescovi’s suicide was always one of those ‘something doesn’t add up’ incidents. But it hadn’t started a pattern, and Matteo has long learned to firmly place his attention on those still moving and not linger on the truly dead. The kid had died, which was unfortunate, been buried with honors and left behind a sister and a niece, and that had been that.

__

Frank’s birthday comes as the very first leaves are starting to change color. They know they’re too rural for trick-or-treaters, but there’s a small stack of king-sized candy bars by the door, just in case. Frank has found a cape and is waltzing about with his fangs down while Gerard rewatches Nosferatu with the lights off. They get three trick or treaters, and Frank gives them two candy bars each while parents compliment his fake fangs. By ten, they’ve flipped the porch light off and Gerard pulls out a small wrapped gift. “Well, you’re 87 now.”

“Yes I am. You didn’t need to get me a gift.”

“Open it, it’s really not that fancy.” Frank pulls at the ribbon and finds a book about witches gardening. He holds it up to Gerard with a short laugh, and Gerard smiles back at him. It’s as much a joke about Frank’s habit of tending his garden at night as it really is a gift.

“Thanks, Gee. I’m sure you’ll find me out gathering herbs by the full moon’s light to make potions.”

“I’ll be alert for any voodoo dolls of me.”

Frank waggles his eyebrows. Gerard rolls his eyes and steps in close to Frank. “Happy birthday, Frankie.”

Frank stops breathing, eyes caught on Gerard’s mouth- right there and a single impulse away from throwing both of them back over the cliffs with a kiss. Gerard closes the distance while Frank deliberates, catching him in a kiss that was meant to be sweet and lands closer to searing.

Frank’s arms come up around Gerard, one kiss slides into two, Gerard’s hands slide into Frank’s hair and tug just enough for Frank’s knees to go to jello. “Gee- Gee, are we? Are we doing this?”

Gerard breaks away and catches Frank’s eye, both of their eyes brighter than they should be, evidence of the hair-trigger they’re both on. “Fuck, Frankie, I want to.”

“Shit, so I do. So fuckin’ bad.” Frank fumbles behind him to set down the book on the counter. “Need a bed- a something.”

“Couch.”

Frank nods and drags Gerard that way. Gerard squirms out of his grip to start working on his shirt, then Frank’s. The whole thing is desperate, but the lack of fumbling and easy coordination bely old practice.

Like the last ten months have been, it’s easy easy easy to fall back into old, good habits, and Gerard breathes “Oh, right there baby- yeah.” when Frank gets a hand on him, kicking his pants off his ankle.

Frank firms up his grip and groans into Gerard’s collarbone. “God- you haven’t changed a bit-“

“You got skinny.” Gerard pinches Frank’s hip and makes him whine, then apologizes with a kiss. “Don’t worry, you’re still hot. God, I wanna fuck you again- missed all that.”

“Wanted you to so bad, Gee. It’s been fuckin’ years, it’s not the same. Wanted you back. You’re too good, know me too well-“

They’re both panting into the dark, both a little too invested in each other and everything that’s falling out of the way between them, and the whole thing is over too quickly for both of them to really be sated. It does offer a bit of a break as Frank staggers upright to the kitchen to throw the roll of paper towels to the couch and wash his hands.

Gerard sits up over the back of the couch with a hum of thanks. “Who’s room?”

“Yours is the master suite, is this gonna be a habit?” Ten feet between them and now neither of them can forget how wide the space between them can get.

Gerard thinks about that for a second, jaw flexing, then shrugs. “Master suite. Plus, I bought that mattress when I moved up here, if we stay in there, it’s newer than yours.”

“Okay.” Frank pads out of the kitchen and leans over the couch to kiss Gerard sweetly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Gerard stands and steals another kiss from Frank before leading the way into the bedroom. Curling up next to each other is awkward until they both decide screw it and let memory guide them into a comfortable sprawl against each other.

Gerard falls asleep first and Frank has a moment to look up at the ceiling and say ‘Well Mom, maybe I didn’t totally screw up’ before he closes his eyes as well.

They go another round in the morning, still giddy with change and giggling like they’re going to be caught. Frank rolls out of the wet spot and kicks lazily at Gerard. “Get a towel?”

“Forgot how lazy you get after sex.” Gerard maneuvers around the ruined sheets to dig a dusty pack of cigarettes out and light one for Frank, who takes it with a hum, still laying on his stomach.

“I still think laziness after the fact is a forgivable sin.”

“I’m giving you five minutes before I pull the sheets out from under you. I wanna wash them before we sleep in them tonight.”

“While the fact I’m going to be invited back is thrilling-“ Frank drawls as he sits up and swings his legs off the bed “- we have two perfectly good beds in this house, and we could just use the other one. Are you gonna join me in the shower after you start laundry, or should I be ready to bully you?”

“I’m not that sweaty.”

Frank rolls his eyes. Neither of them have changed a bit. He pinches out the cigarette with a tiny wince and helps gather up the sheets. “That’s fuckin’ gross. You’re showering.”

“You can’t make me shower.”

“No, I can’t. But I really shouldn’t have to either. You just put your dick in my ass, go wash it.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but Frank will win this fight and they both know it. “We’re just showering, though. I can’t go two rounds that fast.”

Frank snorts at him, “Yeah, I can’t either anymore, don’t worry.”

__

They don’t talk about it, don’t quantify the change as anything concrete, but Frank’s things move out into the bedroom they share. Gerard runs out of shampoo and goes into the other bathroom, steals Frank’s, and moves all his other toiletries while he’s at it. The few humans they’ve got a passing friendship with out in Seattle already think they’re some kind of domestic partners and don’t have any comments to make. Perhaps odder than that, neither of them announce anything or put a name to what they are now. Frank maintains to Jamia that retirement and living with Gerard is ‘going well’ and offers no speculation on the future. She doesn’t press. Lindsey does press Gerard, having seen him fresh on his breakup.

“Are you planning on taking him back?”

Out at the bottom of their property in the gathering dusk, Gerard shrugs at his phone. “I dunno. I think it’s less of me taking him back and the two of us fitting back together.”

“But you said you have to forgive him.”

“I know. And I don’t know if I totally have. But. Neither of us is wearing or exchanging rings, so you know, despite anything else, I don’t have to be ready for that yet.”

“Are you two sleeping together or something? What’s the despite everything else?”

“Uh. Kind of? We’re sharing the one bedroom now. And having sex, uh, pretty regularly.” Gerard knows Lindsey’s big intake of breath is about to be one hell of a leading question, so he heads it off. “I started it. I kissed him on his birthday.”

“And?”

“And, uh.” We had sex on the couch and then again in the morning and that was that. “That was the start of it.” 

“How’s it going?”

“Really well. We’re kinda functionally married, just in like, isolation. Sterile lab test relationship.”

“You are so weird, but I guess if it’s working. I’m glad you’re happy again.”

“Thanks. So am I. I had forgotten, but he makes me happy. Like, the little things. He reads to me while I paint, and we talk about the good parts of Italy, and he’s got a little garden that he putters around in. We sleep in and he brings me coffee.”

“I’m really glad, Gee. Take it and enjoy it, alright?”

“I am. I haven’t been retired in a while, it’s been really nice.”

“Good.” Lindsey starts to tell him about some new shapes she’s throwing, and they veer off into art talk.

__

Lorenzo comes out for Christmas, gives them Matteo’s best and wastes absolutely no time in asking, “So are you getting back together?”

Frank looks at Gerard for support, and Gerard picks up the answer with a shrug. “I mean, we’re halfway there? You’re in the guest room, I’m sure you’re under no illusions that we’re both in the master bedroom. We’re dating? I guess?”

Lorenzo looks at Frank. Frank nods. Dating is a good label for it, at least for now. They’re certainly not nothing, and they’re not married again yet, but anniversary number fifty two wont really be just a date shunned by two separate people at this point.“Check back in six months. This year has been good, and retirement is good, but I don’t want to rush too much.”

“Well, congratulations. You two were always a good team, even when you didn’t really care to be.” That gets Lorenzo two small smiles. He rolls his eyes at their shenanigans and pulls Frank up for a tour.

The three of them wander through the house, Frank and Gerard trading telling stories about the house and the eight months they’ve lived together now. Lorenzo laughs when he should and asks interesting questions about the style and designs, tells his own tales of renovating the downstairs of their brownstone, and relaxes his way into vacation.

Like that long-ago trip to Italy, he and Gerard settle into the living room and chat like gentleman scholars while Gerard paints and draws and Lorenzo writes. The rise and fall of Italian is a soundtrack for Frank’s cooking experiments in the kitchen, and he very occasionally adds his own two cents. It’s nice to just speak and listen to Italian again, Frank muses to himself, as he and Gerard mostly use English, at least until Gerard slips back to his native language.

Lorenzo drags Frank out to their backyard to shoot some targets and catch up on New York. Gerard waves them off with a very trusting smile and Lorenzo grins a little as he and Frank head out. “A lot’s changed, hm?”

Frank pauses in loading a shotgun and smiles with a small shrug, “Yeah, a lot has changed.”

“He trusts you with me, and with guns.”

Frank feigns ignorance, “Well, I’m pretty sure we’re not gonna shoot each other.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes and tells Frank he’s a fool. “You know what I mean.”

Frank drops the joke and nods. “Yeah, he does. Possibly because I didn’t realize myself how deep I got invested in work. It kind of ate me up and spit me out. I mean, Gerard said I changed when I worked there, and I didn’t think I had so much, but I sort of did. And now that I’m out, I’m kind of going back. It’s comfortable, and I’m not half as young as I was, and I’m more settled in who I am. And what I want, and all that. And Gerard knows that, because that’s what we talk about.”

Lorenzo mulls that over, cleanly knocks a row of cans off the far fence, and lowers his gun to say, “Well, I’m glad. I do hope that you two would consider moving back east at some point, because Matteo isn’t half as funny utterly demolishing society folk in New York.”

Frank laughs. “I’m sure that’ll be a consideration. I’m kind of over the country, and I’ve only been out here a year. I miss living in the city, but Gee likes the space. We’re gonna end up in the suburbs. Isn’t that awful?”

“It really is a shame. But. Compromise, marriage, blah blah blah.”

“Yeah, speaking of, how’s Matteo?”

“I will shoot you. He’s fine.” The defensiveness betrays that Lorenzo’s heart still hangs on Matteo, and even after years of living and working side by side, Matteo still doesn’t know.

Frank laughs, firing at his own line of cans and then trooping with Lorenzo out that way to set them back up. “He’s just fine, huh? I bet he is.”

“Didn’t think he was your type, hmm? Considering Gerard and all.” 

“As if Matteo would ever stoop to me. But he’s plenty handsome, no denying that.”

“‘M glad you understand the pecking order here, he would be lowering himself to you.” Frank shoves Lorenzo sideways for that comment, and Lorenzo stumbles with a laugh.

They fuck around in the field until it’s properly dark out and they’ve fired off most of the rounds Frank has laying around. It’s a good time, ribbing each other for being "shit" shots and daring each other to make increasingly more difficult ones. They’ve totally lost three cans from hurling them like clay pigeons, and Frank’s side is dusty from answering Lorenzo’s challenge to shoot while falling sideways, Matrix style.

They make it back in, and Gerard takes his turn laughing at how dusty Frank is, then kisses away his grouchy pout and tells him to go shower. Frank does, and Lorenzo flops back to the couch. “You gonna marry him again?”

Gerard nods, “Really just a question of when. And how much we need to get married again. How much we want to, I haven’t had this conversation with him.”

“Does he know?”

“I’m sure he knows. But I told him a year trial before anything, and I doubt he’ll even allude to it before we cross that anniversary.”

“When’s the year?”

“May 23nd.”

“Damn.”

“I’m glad we took it.” Gerard sets down the book in his hands. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have come back as naturally. But- I mean, I think I told Lindsey this months ago, I do love him. When he’s not drowning in your work. And he’s changed a fair amount. He’s kind of smoothed over, he’s less wild.”

“Sucks for you.” Lorenzo knows those are all positives, but it’s worth the withering look Gerard throws him to pretend otherwise. “So, looks like you’re getting formally back together next summer?”

Gerard nods. “Mhmm. Our anniversary, my birthday, then who knows before his.”

“An exciting year.”

Gerard’s face says that's not always a good thing.

__

Their anniversary is quiet, notable only because they go out for dinner in the city, treating it almost like a date.

For Gerard’s birthday, Frank just cooks all of his favorites and invites all of Gerard’s friends. It’s still a small party, but by hiding everyone away in hotels in the city and just having them show up for the party makes a great surprise. Lindsey finally meets Antonio and the mob vampires, and Julian gets to catch up with Jamia and Alicia. Gerard beams the whole night, and Frank catches him sometimes just looking around at their living room full of old friends with a kind of wonder. Right before presents, Frank catches Gerard around the waist in a hug and whispers into his jaw, “Happy birthday. From me, and from your whole family. We love you.”

“My whole- Frankie, thank you.”

Frank presses a gentle kiss to Gerard’s jaw and lets him go. He knows what it means to Gerard, who’s blood family is long, long lost, to have this group of eight people who are just as close, an enclave that know and love each other despite any differences.

Gerard opens his gifts, many of them art based, or pieces they saw and thought of him, and Lindsey catches Frank in the kitchen getting drinks. “This is cool. I’ve never been close to anything like a vampire clan, but this feels like one. Your guys are cool. ‘tonio especially.”

“He’s great, isn’t he? And I don’t know anything about any clans, but I know family is important, and I wanted Gee to get to be with his.”

“There’s one up in Scotland, I think. And one in the Ottoman empire.”

“So Turkey? Or like, Palestine?”

“Turkey-ish? Down there, I don’t remember. Who knows.”

“Not you.” Frank grabs glasses and gently hip-checks Lindsey out of his way.

She snorts at him, “Not me.” And takes a few of the extra glasses out of his hand to help.

__

Gerard corners Frank two days later, when everyone has finally headed home, most of them taking long weekends for the party. “Thank you.”

Frank pats the couch cushion next to him and Gerard plops into the space, “Are you thanking me for your birthday party? Because you never ever need to do that.”

“I’m thanking you for the thought you put into it. You’ve always made me feel welcome in your family. And you made one around both of us for this. And I appreciate it.”

“I dunno,” Frank smiles, putting an arm around Gerard, “I think we deserve a vampire family. And everybody else does too. You and Lindsey deserve the support of more than one friend at a time, all the guys from Italy deserve to know and be close to vampires that aren’t Grant, and we owe Jai and ‘Licia our ongoing friendship because we’re kind of responsible for them. All discussion of formality and sires thrown completely out the window, I still feel a little responsible.”

“And you?”

“I don’t like being alone.”

“That’s fair. Did I overhear you and Linds whispering about vampire clans at some point?”

“Oh, yeah. I think when ‘teo and I very briefly talked about- there’s gotta be some element of formality somewhere. That’s at least recognizable to other vampires, or anybody could call themselves a clan. I think we could be, it’d be really cool to be a part of a clan, but I don’t think we are yet.”

“I wonder if they’re bound.”

“Isn’t that really shitty, though? There’s nothing to celebrate in that, it’s awful. But that can’t be it, because otherwise Grant would’ve had a clan, and I don’t think he thought he did. Unless you mean like a two-way binding?”

“Could be. Is that possible?”

Frank shrugs. “Who knows. I trust you plenty, but I’m not super eager to experiment with that shit.”

“Fair enough. The few moments I bound you were plenty awful, I’m sure.”

“I barely remember them, honestly. But it just- it feels bad.”

“Yeah. From both ends.”

Frank nods absently, head tilted into Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard doesn’t want to expand on the bad, and they lapse back into silence.

__

The end of May comes up quickly and passes in a gentle cover of rain, and still nothing between them pushes past ‘dating.’ Frank starts to worry at the rings around his neck, and digs his own out when Gerard is out to look at all four together, but he’s leery of proposing. Part of him still feels like he doesn’t quite deserve to ask Gerard back, and part of him just plain wants to let Gerard dictate the pace. If they go two whole years without a move, Frank will ask.

Gerard, around the same time, is getting a thin gold band engraved with ‘ancora una volta ancora’ on the inside. The thought of his own engraved rings started the idea, and ‘again, one more time’ in Italian gains the same pleasing loop as his own ‘per sempre, per sempre’ loop.

__

Gerard proposes the second time outside, but this time doesn’t go to one knee. He and Frank are walking their property line to make sure none of the late cougar hunter or early season black bear hunters have disturbed their fences, and Frank isn’t paying attention, looking up into the trees. Gerard slips his hand into his pocket and says, “Hey, Frank?”

Frank goes “Hm?” With a half-turn, taking another step forward.

“Frankie, look at me.”

“What?” Frank turns around, and Gerard holds out the ring.

“Will you join me in renewing our vows?”

“In- what? Are you proposing?” Frank steps up, shocked and gently taking the ring from Gerard.

Gerard nods. “I’m asking if you want to.”

Frank laughs, sliding the ring into his shirt pocket and going to one knee to fumble at his collar for the chain. “I very very much do. Hang on-“ he frees the rings and holds up Gerard’s old engagement ring. “Will you, Gerard Way, accept my hand in marriage again?”

“I will.” Gerard lets Frank slide the ring on and admires how easily it sits in it’s place, then taps Frank’s shirt pocket. “Now put on yours.”

Frank does, pausing only to read the engraving. “Oh, Gee, it’s like-“

“It’s like mine. Yeah. I wanted us to match. Figure we might do a little tiny ceremony and the courthouse thing later?”

Frank links their hands, smiling at the familiar gold band on Gerard. “And wedding bands again then?”

Gerard nods. “Yeah.”

“I love you.” Frank tugs Gerard close to kiss him. Gerard returns the kiss with the same enthusiasm. 

“I love you too. I love that you’re always trying to be better.”

“Nothing else for it, right?”

__

They get officially married again on June 27th, their exact half-anniversary. It’s jus them at the courthouse, with a local notary there to be witness. They trade back their old bands, and Gerard stacks his gold bands again and insists Frank wear his engagement diamond as his second band, leaving his plain gold first wedding band unworn. Frank does, but keeps the old ring still.

When their friends find out via a photo sent by email, Frank and Gerard are treated to three separate phone calls to both yell at them for not inviting people and then in turn congratulate them for finally doing what everyone had been waiting on them to do for a full year.

__

Two years later, they compromise on the city or country divide by moving to Sicily. It’s less populous than a US city, but not American suburbia. Frank studies at a local university to get Italian teaching credentials and Gerard volunteers at a local Catholic charity.

As far as anyone knows, the Ways are young and hopelessly in love, a little too in favor of the Euro-zone for a couple of Americans, and otherwise harmless. That’s just how they like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that.
> 
> Let me know if you guys are open to Matteo/Lorenzo centered fics, as there's a bit to come in there... also some things about clans in the works. Really this is just me setting up like five new fics (can you guess them all? I don't think there's many red herrings in here but I never know) and I've gotta decide what to write next. So let me know what you want to read!


End file.
